Dreams in the Night
by The Auburn Girl
Summary: Sometimes when we are alone and troubled, help comes in the night. My take on the hospital-dancing scene in the upcoming "Servant to Two Masters". Rated M for soft lemon. Mina/Alexander.


_A/N: __So I have finally decided to dabble in fanfiction that does not pertain to Once Upon a Time. This is my first time writing Dracula or Mina, so please bear with me and tell me what you think. _

She glides down the hall of the hospital, the skirt of her dress brushing lightly along the floor. Her footsteps echo softly in the corridor, and if a doctor was to see her, he would believe her calm. Yet her eyes are unseeing as she paces back and forth in silent anxiety, and in her hands, she tightly clutches a satchel.

Jonathan is away on business, so she is staying to help her father with his patients. However she cannot help them when her thoughts are focused on her fiancé and his employer.

Mr. Grayson... Their dance at the party, their walk alone in the park, has created something between them. They have always had a platonic relationship. But now Mina thinks they have something _more_. The fluttering beat of her heart tells her so, even if she does not want to admit it to herself or Jonathan. She has _feelings _for Mr. Grayson. Romantic feelings if her vivid, sensual dreams are anything to go by.

While she should be dreaming of Jonathan, she dreams of him. Of his strong calloused hands trailing over her body. Of his trimmed beard brushing against her neck with his every kiss... It is not Jonathan who gently coaxes her legs open. It is _him_. He is the one who settles between her legs and slides inside her. Who thrusts long, deep, and slow until she begs him to move faster, to thrust harder. _He _muffles her cries with his mouth, with his devious tongue. _He _murmurs his undying love into her ear. And _he _clutches at her when they are both spent and exhausted, trapped in twisted sheets.

"What am I going to do?" she whispers, completely torn. Jonathan and she will be married soon, and once that happens, there is no going back. She should be ecstatic, should be happy about their impending marriage. Yet now she only sees the set date as the time remaining she has with Mr. Grayson.

Their time is running out.

She feels guilty about the whole ordeal. She barely knows Mr. Grayson—has not spent years with him like she has with Jonathan. So why does she have intense feelings for the man?

Every time Mr. Grayson looks at her, she is the center of his world. She feels important and desired. Loved. He has never treated her unkindly. On the contrary, he is always present and listening. He is attentive to her every wish, and along the way, he encourages her. He wants her to live her dreams, to make them her reality. "What am I going to do?" she repeats, as if asking the question will miraculously give her an answer.

"Troubled, Miss Murray?" The voice the words belong to is smooth and concerned.

She pauses in her steps and turns to see who it is, and it is as if he has read her mind. He is _here _when she thinks of him. "Mr. Grayson," she says, somewhat breathlessly. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

He is dressed impeccably in his suit and his hair is slicked back. He looks intimidating, although the warmth in his dark eyes makes her feel anything but fear. Instead, a heat ignites in her belly and it is all she can do not to throw herself into his arms. "As unorthodox as it sounds, Miss Murray... I came to see you," he tells her, clasping his hands behind his back. He has caught her at the end of the hall. "I left you rather abruptly in the park, and I came to apologize."

She is surprised by the sweet gesture and by his lack of propriety. Calling upon a woman at this hour? "Then your apology has been received. You may leave knowing you have been forgiven."

He smiles at her dismissal but does not leave. "You were pacing a moment ago, Miss Murray. You seem troubled." He steps around her, watchful as ever. "Perhaps I can help."

He is sincere, she realizes. He wants to comfort her in some manner. "I don't think anyone can help me at this point," she whispers. "I must conquer my own fears and solve my own problems."

He halts and gazes pensively at her. "No one ever said we have to fight our battles alone, Miss Murray, but if it is your wish, I will leave you alone." He stares at her in silence for a few more moments before bidding her goodnight, and all at once, she is terrified of solitude. _Of losing him._

When he turns away, she snatches his wrist. Dimly, she is stunned by her action, but now his attention is riveted on her. She is pleased he does not pull away. In fact, he uses her grip to pull her closer to his chest. "Please—" She sounds desperate. "Forgive me, Mr. Grayson. Please don't go."

"Never," he murmurs, smiling gently. Before she quite understands what is happening, her hand is in his and he is guiding her to place her hand at his shoulder. His free hand finds her hip and keeps her firmly planted in front of him. And, as if they have done this countless times before, they fall into step.

This is not like the engagement party where everyone was free to watch them. This is something _more_, something more personal and intimate then they have ever done.

The realization leaves her breathless and sweeps her off her feet.

They make a turn around the end of the hall, his eyes constantly locked on hers, _seeking_. He searches for something, for some sign she has no idea how to give. Their feet move in perfect rhythm, their breaths become one. She trembles in his embrace and fights back the urge to lean into him. And through it all, he watches her with an intensity she cannot remember ever seeing in Jonathan's eyes. "You are beautiful, Mina Murray," he says quietly. His voice is not its normal pitch; it is rough and husky, and the sound goes straight to her lower belly.

She ducks her head and then finds the courage to meet his gaze. "You flatter me," she whispers. By the grace of God, her voice does not shake and betray the inner maelstrom of emotions she is feeling.

"Should I stop?" he wonders, quirking an eyebrow playful at her. His grip on her waist tightens for the briefest of moments. It is gone in the next second, but she feels it nevertheless.

"No."

It is not the answer he expects. She sees it clear as day in his glittering eyes.

Suddenly, he brings his face close to hers. Her blood sings in her veins when their noses touch, and it is all she can do to keep from gasping when his dry lips brush hers. They do not linger on her lips but trail down her jaw. His arms are tight around her, crushing her to him, and she cannot say she minds. She never wants him to let go.

"Mina..." he sighs, his breath tickling her oversensitive skin. His wet tongue flicks at the underside of her chin. She gasps, clutching at his shoulders, and for a moment, she fears her knees will give out from under her, but then she trusts in his strength. He will not let her fall. He has not failed her thus far.

"Mr. Grayson..." she _whimpers_. She has never made that sound before, even when Jonathan made love to her. She has never _whimpered _Jonathan's name like she does Mr. Grayson's now.

He shifts and nips tenderly at her earlobe. His breath is hot against her ear as he whispers his name. "Alexander, Mina. I am _Alexander _to you and you alone."

Somehow this is better than any dream her mind has concocted. Somehow this is more perfect than anything she has ever imagined. She is soaring and feels freer than she has felt before. And when his lips descend to brush and kiss her throbbing pulse, she can do no more than sigh and tilt her head back.

He growls, makes a noise she cannot describe, and all at once, he is wrenching himself away. The broken contact is like a physical blow. She stumbles, gasping frantically, and nearly collapses to the stone ground. He catches her and eases her into one of the wicker chairs that line the hallway—that are used by the patients she is supposed to be treating. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, my love," Mr. Grayson—_Alexander_—says above her. He fingers her jaw, has her peer into his eyes. She can do no more than fall into the depths of them. Darkness consumes her vision. Her head falls to the back of the chair. After a while, she feels a hand brush curls out of her face and raises her head.

"Mina, Mina, are you all right?"

"Papa?" she mutters. It is he who runs his hand soothingly down her back.

"Yes. You were asleep, my girl."

Asleep? She looks around the hall, sees the dimmed candles, and smiles dazedly up at her father. "I...I had the most vivid dream."


End file.
